Edwin Carlile Litsey,
The Race of the Swift
“ In the dead of night, when the moon had climbed the towering peak of Bald Knob, and the hill-farmers below kept silent watch for the coming of the raider, a face appeared in the cleft on the side of Devil’s Gorge. There was the craft of a lifetime in the burning eyes as they suspiciously swept the ground immediately in front of his den. There was nothing to awaken distrust except the tumbled condition of the earth, but the old wolf hesitated. Then hunger, the one law which the wood-folk know not how to disobey, drove him out. ”

